


Both Created In Chaos

by MauveIdiot



Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Avengers - Freeform, Brotherhood of Mutants (X-Men), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Magnet Family, My Own BS, Pietro Maximoff is a Little Shit, Questionable medical stuff, Romance, Schizophrenia, Slow Burn, So Does Lorna, Team as Family, Wanda Gets the Mental Help She Deserves, Wanda and Lorna Have a Relationship in This One, X-men - Freeform, dadneto, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-27 09:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MauveIdiot/pseuds/MauveIdiot
Summary: Enemies to Lovers. Slow Burn.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Wanda Maximoff, Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Kitty Pryde & Kurt Wagner, Logan (X-Men) & Kurt Wagner, Logan/Ororo Munroe, Lorna Dane & Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Lorna Dane & Wanda Maximoff, Ororo Munroe & Kurt Wagner, Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Remy LeBeau/Rogue, Rogue & Kurt Wagner, Wanda Maximoff & Kurt Wagner, Wanda Maximoff & Rogue, Wanda Maximoff/Kurt Wagner
Kudos: 11





	1. Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about my questionable translations. Please let me know if anything seems off.

* * *

Wanda's scarlet hex bolt flared and arced into the old plastic trashcan, which promptly burst into oily red flames. She dusted her knuckles off on her ragged old coat and half-smiled at the Brotherhood boys, a challenge in her crystal blue eyes. "That's how it's done, boys."

"Okay, okay," John crooned in his heavy Australian accent, swaggering across the rooftop and stopping just a little too close to her, "you showed me yours so I'll show you mine."

White teeth flashed against white skin, and with a flick of his wrist he sent a ball of flame hurtling into the rusted oil drum set a few meters away from the trashcan. Well, it didn't go into the oil drum so much as _through it_ , blasting it to pieces and leaving shrapnel bits of burning metal scattered across the concrete.

John leaned in close to Wanda, his breath hot against her skin. " _That's_ how it's done. Better luck next time, though maybe I could give you a few pointers - " he broke off in a yelp as he was violently jerked back by a silver blur.

"How many times do I have to tell you to keep your fucking hands of my sister," said Pietro, shoving John, who stumbled back but quickly recovered, plastering that pristine grin back on. This wasn't a fight so much as posturing, proving whose manhood was bigger or whatever. Wanda didn't need her brother's protection, and John didn't scare her like Jason did. Fortunately, he wasn't around tonight. She'd had nightmares every night since the incident in Bavaria, nightmares that didn't always go away when she opened her eyes, and she wasn't sure if she was more afraid of _Mastermind_ being behind them - or of him _not_ being behind them.

Smoke ribboned out over the brotherhood's safe house, blue against the twilit cityscape of water towers and crappy apartment buildings. When she first arrived in New York she'd still harbored hope for the foolish American dream, a big apartment or a suburban house with a back yard - or at the very least something with hot water that didn't come out orange and smelling of iron. But she knew she shouldn't complain.

She had a roof over her head.

She was warm at night, sleeping in her own bed.

And no one in New York City has called her a witch yet.

"Hey," a soft southern voice said, and Wanda didn't need to turn to see the concern in Rogue's green eyes. Gloved hands pressed a red plastic cup into Wanda's grip. "You look like you could use somethin' to warm you up good. Boy's been botherin' you again?"

Wanda shook her head and took a hesitant sip of warm beer. It was godawful but she could use the buzz. "It's not that. I can handle the boys - "

"Damn right you can."

" - it's all this..." She indicated the hooting boys and burning trashcans, the untamed urban jungle of Brooklyn and New York and _eight million_ people. "It's just not what I expected, is all. I thought we would be doing something, but we're always shut up in this house, waiting for Erik to come back and tell us what to do."

Rogue tucked her white-striped hair behind her ear. "You don't have to stay cooped up inside all the time, sugah, you're not a prisoner."

"I know..." But just as Rogue's mutation kept her from going out much or touching anyone, Wanda was kept inside by something else. The truth was that she was lost in New York city. In the six months since the Brotherhood rescued her and Pietro from a mob and brought them here, to this safehouse in America, she'd worked hard to hone the little English she knew into almost fluency - and luckily she had a knack for languages, always had. But she was a stranger in this country and didn't want to draw any attention to herself, afraid that she'd lose the last safe haven she had left. Growing up, her family had been run out of so many towns for being Roma that the longer she stayed in one place the more she felt it was about to slip away. Nothing felt permanent. Nothing felt like home. Especially now, after Bavaria...

She shook that thought from her head and promised herself that things were different now.

"You know what your problem is?" Rogue asked, leaning back against the concrete railing. "You're _lonely_."

"I'm not lonely," Wanda argued. Why did Rogue have to call her out like that? Of course she was lonely, and homesick, and still dreaming of a fire that happened nearly seven months ago. "You think I need what, a boyfriend? I'm surrounded by boys at all hours. I could do with less boys." She looked pointedly across the roof to where Mortimer was _licking his own eyeball._

"Aw c'mon, Morty ain't so bad, and Johnny likes you for sure."

Wanda was never sure if John liked her or her brother more, but she wasn't about to start anything with any of the brotherhood boys, or anyone else for that matter. She didn't want a boyfriend; she wanted quiet inside her head, and a hot shower, and to be able to sleep without having nightmares.

"Why don't you say we get outta here, go find ourselves some decent booze?" Rogue nudged Wanda with the toe of her boot and grinned mischievously. "And maybe a handsome fella for you?"

* * *

Kurt couldn't help but fidget with his image inducer; it was hard to keep still with his tail shoved down his pants and a hoodie drawn over his face. It was also hard to keep still when he was _nervous_. He knew the hologram covered him and that instead of blue fur and yellow eyes everyone at the bar saw brown skin and dark eyes, but he felt better covering up - the only exception being his feet, which were bare, though the only person here who knew that was Logan.

"I still don't know why you think you need that thing if you hate it so much, Elf." Logan sipped his beer and showed the points of his canines. "As if I would ever take you to a bigoted bar."

"You do always take me to the nicest places," replied Kurt, running a finger over the sticky surface of the bar. It was a hole-in-the-wall with cracked windows and every sort of stain on the floor, but the beer was good and Logan was right; the owner didn't ask questions or discriminate so long as you could pay your tab.

Logan snorted. "Remember the first bar I took you to, when you weren't even _legal_?"

"I wanted you to show me the real America, not some crappy dive bar. Like what I saw on TV." Kurt sighed. He'd been in America for over two years, but had only recently turned twenty-one. Not that his youth had really deterred him. After taking an instant liking to the blue mutant, Logan had dragged him around to all his favorite watering holes in New York, intent on corrupting the starry-eyed youth.

Logan chuckled. "You only knew American bars from god damned _classic noir_ flicks."

"I thought there would at least be a piano." Kurt smiled fondly at the memory. Logan had taken him under his wing not long after his arrival at the school, though the older man would never have described it as such. Truthfully, Kurt wondered if Logan had needed a friend as much as Kurt. They had both been new to the institute and out of their elements, and Logan needed a drinking buddy, so when he heard the young German griping about American drinking laws he decided to rescue Kurt from forced sobriety.

"It's not a fucking saloon," muttered Logan, the same thing he'd said two years before. Xavier had found out about it, of course (he knew everything) and while he definitely discouraged underage drinking, he also seemed to think that the two newcomers to the institute were good for each other. He hadn't been wrong.

* * *

The moment she set foot in the bar Wanda regretted it.

Standing next to Rogue in her jeans and brown bomber jacket she felt exposed, wearing only a red bralette and dark pants under her old red duster. They were the castoffs of the girl who'd been with the Brotherhood before her, Bam-Bam or Boom-Boom or something. Rogue hadn't thought much of her, but Wanda liked the clothes, and she liked how wearing them pissed Pietro off. He was always overprotective of her, treating her like his baby sister even though they were twins and he was only _minutes_ older than her.

But the second the bell on the door chimed every eye was on the two girls.

"This was a helluva bad idea," said Rogue, and Wanda could feel her shrinking into herself.

"No," Wanda said, her English clipped as her eyes roved over the bar. It wasn't too busy, just a pair of men at the bar and a small group near the front, the bartender looking sleepy as he wiped condensation off a brown beer bottle. "It's fine. We're fine." She caught Rogue's eye and forced a smile. "No one can touch us, right?"

"Right." Rogue followed as Wanda wove towards the back of the bar, taking the path with the fewest human obstacles and raising two fingers to the bartender. They would both feel a lot better with a drink in their hands.

They found a booth at the back and made themselves comfortable, the bartender bringing them their drinks. Wanda sipped hers and wondered if this place served any sort of food, and if it was any good. No one at the brotherhood house ever cooked, mostly because no one ever cleaned the kitchen, so they were perpetually ordering pizza, or Chinese food, or sandwiches from the kosher deli on the corner.

"I read that book you lent me," said Wanda. Reading was a good way to improve her English, and Rogue had very good taste in smutty romances.

Rogue perked up. "Did ya like it?"

Wanda smiled and bit her lip. "I don't know how you could ever think I'm lonely when I have such fine literature to read."

They both laughed, and Wanda felt the mood lightening. Maybe they stuck out a little, two girls alone late at night, but they really could take care of themselves, and it was nice to get away from the boys. The safehouse had been beginning to feel claustrophobic, especially with Pietro glaring any time someone asked if she wanted to play a board game.

Not that she could blame him. Though in all honesty, he should have been protecting the boys from _her_ instead of the other way around.

"Penny for ya thoughts?" asked Rogue.

Wanda smiled. "I was just thinking about how you're a lifesaver and how I couldn't live without you."

* * *

"Did you hear that?" asked Kurt, turning to Logan, eyes alight with the flare of excitement. "Those girls?"

"I think everyone in here heard 'em," Logan said, side-eyeing the girls over his beer without much interest. The girls were far too young for him, barely adults, and anyways, Kurt was pretty sure Logan had something going on with 'Roro, though he didn't talk about it much.

 _But_ _those girls_.

Like everyone else Kurt had noticed their entrance - and they had made _quite_ the entrance - it was hard not to notice girls like that in a shit dive bar like this, though by all appearances the two could not have been more different, one with fair rosy skin and a white stripe in her auburn hair, the other with brown skin and waves of chestnut curls. One who spoke in an American southern drawl and the other whose accent brought back memories of campfire stories and lullabies and every comfort of his childhood.

"The one in the red coat," he said, trying to keep his voice from pitching too loud. "Her accent."

"Mm." Logan took a swig of beer. "Sounds almost like yours. I'm assuming that's why you look ready to piss yourself."

"I do _not._ " Kurt exclaimed, but looked immediately chagrined - though he could still feel his tail twitching. It always gave him away. "But that girl, I think she's Roma. Like _me_."

He waited for that to sink in but Logan continued to be impressed only by his beer.

Finally Logan sighed. "You want to go talk to her, don'tcha?"

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek. He really did want to go talk to her, but he'd feel bad leaving Logan.

Logan shook his head, waving him off. "Go get 'em tiger." He raised his bottle and called after Kurt as he left. "But you owe me a beer!"

Forgetting his beer, Kurt wove between empty tables, approaching where the girls sat together at the back of the bar.

"Hello!" he said brightly, trying to think of something witty to say. He was rarely at a loss for words but he couldn't seem to find them now, as the Roma girl turned her bright, wry eyes on him. They were blue like the heart of a glacier.

"Cat got your tongue?" asked the auburn-haired girl in her southern drawl.

"No - no." He blinked and broke the girl's blue gaze, forcing himself to look at her friend, who seemed at once amused and disturbed, withdrawing into the cracked vinyl booth in a way that looked almost reflexive. Perhaps he'd come across too strongly. "I didn't mean to intrude, I just noticed your accents. I have an accent too, as you've probably noticed."

"You're from Germany," said the dark-haired girl, eyes narrowed slightly. "Or German is your first language, _hab ich recht?_ " _Am I correct?_ Her German was flawless.

" _Unul din ei._ " _One of them_ , he replied in the Romani dialect his mother spoke, his mouth curving on the syllables like a smile.

 _There_.

Her eyes lit up, her whole face brightening. It probably wasn't the same dialect she was familiar with but it would still be unmistakable.

"I'm gonna go get us some more drinks," said the auburn-haired girl, nudging her friend and giving her one of those looks girls give each other. She smiled at Kurt. "Why don't you sit down? What ah you drinkin'? Beer?"

"It's the only thing I'd drink here."

The auburn-haired girl left and Kurt dropped into the booth, fidgeting as he sat on his own tail, swallowing down his usual discomfort of engaging with strangers while wearing his image-inducer. It felt dishonest to him, and, especially when he found himself talking to a pretty girl, it felt like _catfishing_. It wasn't that he looked better or more handsome without fur and yellow eyes - he preferred being himself, always - but it wasn't always _safe_ to be himself. If he wanted a quiet night out on the town he had to fit in.

And yet, it didn't feel _right_ to wear the facade.

That discomfort made him even more tongue-tied than he already was sitting across from probably the most beautiful girl he'd ever met. He was at an almost complete loss for words, but he managed to ask "So, uhm, what do you think of America?"

"Honestly?" She leaned her elbows on the table, voice lowered conspiratorially. "I thought the bars would be nicer."


	2. Hellfire

The nightmares closed in on Wanda like a pack of wolves.

One moment she was stumbling up to the room she shared with Rogue, leaning on her shoulder, falling into bed. The next she was watching flames consume bodies, the scents of burning wood thick in the air.

_It was her fault. All her fault._

It was still dark when she woke up sweaty and dry-mouthed, head pounding with a hangover migraine. It took her three miserable heartbeats to feel the lurch in her stomach and by then it was almost too late. Stumbling out of bed, she staggered across the hall to the bathroom, vomiting in the toilet before wiping her sour-tasting mouth on the back of her shivering hand.

_Hell._

Dimly, she was aware of a light on in the stairwell and voices drifting up, but she closed her eyes against the brightness and listened only to the pulsing pain in her skull. Tried to form a coherent thought. Was this just a hangover or was it her powers? She might have had a few too many at the bar, but it had just been _so easy_ to forget, to drink and laugh with that boy who understood all her old jokes and had such a pretty mouth. What was his name? She didn't know. It must not have come up. Not that it mattered. She was a mutant, and he was a human, and soon enough she'd be fighting in Erik's war.

Her stomach gave another twist and she pressed her forehead to the cool porcelain of the toilet, trying to find some sort of stillness, though her head felt like a bag of rocks in a hurricane.

"Please tell me she isn't pregnant," she distantly heard the smooth, cool voice, and realized that the light from the hall had dimmed, a shadow darkening the door.

 _Erik_.

"Of course not," Pietro's voice cut through her migraine like a knife. _Ouch_. "It's her powers. Sometimes they're like this." There was a defensive edge to his voice that she knew would have meant a severe 'defending my sister's honor' smack down if it were anyone else but Erik questioning her virtue.

"I thought I told you to work on that." She could just imagine his mouth pressing into a thin, insouciant line of disapproval.

"She _does_ work on it. Her control is way better now, but I thought we were going to get training. You're never even here."

"That's about to change." She could feel more than see Erik already turning away, dismissive. "Get her cleaned up. I have an appointment later and I want you both to come with me."

A moment of blessed silence passed, and for a heartbeat Wanda thought they were gone, that they had left her alone to be miserable in peace.

Then Pietro said, "You mean _now?_ "

"Yes, _now_."

Wanda groaned.

* * *

The building looked like a bank. A very large, excessively grand bank with a stone front and cut glass doors that caught the streetlight and refracted it in a thousand diamond shapes across the sidewalk. It wasn't a bank - Wanda couldn't tell what it was - but it didn't look like the type of place you could just walk into at three o'clock in the morning.

But that's exactly what they did.

The doors opened with a cool waft of air that smelled faintly of tobacco and women's perfume, and they passed from the street into a world that couldn't have been more different from the grunge of the brotherhood house. Marble floors glistened with the golden light of a crystal chandelier, mahogany wood paneled the walls, the enchanting sounds of Bach's piano concerto no. 1 drifting from somewhere unseen.

They took the elevator to the top floor.

Wanda was still feeling ill, her head throbbing in ways that made her vision go funny in bright light, but Rogue had whipped up a horrible concoction for her hangover before they left, so she still managed to compose herself as the elevator counted up to the penthouse. Pietro didn't even try; his eyes had gone wide as saucers when they first stepped into the lobby, but now he was restless, practically humming with energy. He always hated standing still when he could be moving; and moving at a crawl was even worse than stillness.

Erik didn't help. He filled up the elevator with his intense presence, though he was both perfectly still and composed, bored almost. Wanda and Pietro had been in awe of the man since Bavaria, though that awe had worn a little thinner in the last six months living at the brotherhood house.

The grandeur of the lobby was already making her feel shabby in comparison (she'd been doubled over a toilet just an hour before) but when the elevator dinged and admitted them into the penthouse, she caught her breath and forgot all about her own frayed appearance. A vaulted span of glass captured a magnificent, uninterrupted view of the New York skyline, the glittering skyscrapers providing a picturesque backdrop for the penthouse, which looked like a room from a castle, with bearskin rugs and a fireplace that must have been original to the building. It even had its own freestanding bar, curved like a compass rose, and a sitting area with several overstuffed armchairs. From Wanda's limited experience with American rich people (from Morty and Rogue's soaps) she found the American upper crust to be as chilly as department store showrooms, but there was a warm elegance here that could only be achieved by a combination of extreme wealth and impeccable taste.

The penthouse already held three occupants; two men standing near the bar and a young woman sitting at a grand piano that shone as black and huge as a racehorse. One of the men had wings like an angel. The other, she immediately noticed, had the sly, darkly cunning eyes of a devil.

"Erik," said the man without wings, picking up a bottle and filling a snifter with something that glinted like firelight. He poured two more cups as they crossed the room, and his younger companion handed them out. Wanda accepted hers but didn't drink; her head was messed up enough as it was. "These must be your young...protégées."

Wanda didn't like the way the man's eyes lingered on her, his mouth dipping into a frown.

"Pietro, Wanda, these are my associates, Sebastian Shaw - " Erik indicated the man who had spoken - "Emma Frost - " the pale young woman - "and Warren Worthington." The man with angel wings, who looked as handsome and all American as a golden retriever, offered his hand to shake. Pietro snubbed him. Wanda transferred her drink to her other hand and took his.

He smiled, showing off perfect teeth. "It isn't every day that you meet a mutant that is equally beautiful and powerful." He leaned in close enough for her to smell his aftershave, so no one else could hear. "I think you intimidate Shaw."

Wanda cut her eyes to the looming Shaw with his expensive suit and bushy sideburns. "I doubt that."

"Warren dear, don't crowd the poor girl, she has a migraine." The woman - Emma Frost - appeared seemingly out of nowhere and took the snifter from Wanda's hand, fussing in a British accent and tsking at Erik. "You should take better care of your things."

Wanda blinked. "How - ?"

"I'm a telepath, darling, and your mind is louder than a 2013 Paramore concert right now." Emma smiled; she was pristinely pretty in a white pantsuit, her blond hair parted in perfectly even sheaves. As Wanda looked at her she found her headache fading a little, still there but distant, less important. _Now isn't that better?_

Wanda's mouth hung slightly open, then snapped shut. "You don't want to be inside my head."

Before the woman could reply Erik tried to take back control of the conversation. "My associates - "

Shaw interrupted, "Benefactors, if you would."

Erik's mouth thinned. "My associates and I have been planning something that will shake the world to its very foundations. You both will be a part of it, of course, along with the rest of the Brotherhood. We'll tell you our plans when they are ready to be put into action, but we want to test you all first."

"Test us?" Pietro asked dubiously. "We're not kids."

Shaw waved off his sour look. "What Erik meant to say is that he thinks you're ready for field work. Don't you want to show the world what you're made of? Pay back a little retribution to the people who hurt our kind?"

Emma laid a hand on each of their shoulder's. "But before we can do that we'll have to turn you rabble - no offense, dear - into a proper team. You will need a little more training and a few field tests, and _uniforms_ , of course. If you're going to upend the status quo then you have to make a statement." She twisted one of Wanda's dark curls around a pale finger and smiled. "How do you feel about tiaras?"


	3. Battle Lines

_Two weeks later_

The deck of the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ dipped and rocked under Kurt's feet, though his balance was superb as he parried blows from his enemy. He could taste salt in the air, hear the cries of gulls wheeling on the sea breeze, even feel the spray of water coming over the railing and the kiss of sunshine on the back of his neck.

It was the perfect setting for a fight, made more perfect by the sword in his hand and his foe, who was none other than Blackbeard himself.

Or rather, a simulated version of Blackbeard based mostly on historical accounts and Errol Flynn movies. Hank had truly outdone himself this time.

The pirate swung his cutlass and lunged, Kurt easily parrying the blow with his own blade (which he'd obtained fighting real life space pirates!) dancing backwards as Blackbeard rushed him, all the way back to the starboard railing.

"Arrr, I've got ye now," snarled Blackbeard, grinning to show teeth blackened by rot. "Ye've nowheres to go."

"That's what you think, _Herr Kapitan_." In one fluid leap Kurt back-flipped onto the railing, knocking the sword from Blackbeard's hand as he did and landing with perfect grace. He hadn't even needed to use his teleportation.

"Who's got who now?" asked Kurt, grinning. "Or is it _whom_? English isn't my first language, so you'll have to forgive me."

His gloating was interrupted by the slow clapping of Logan, who stepped into the simulation and looked around with one eyebrow raised.

"Pirates again?" He rolled his eyes. His simulations were always painfully realistic (for a world full of superheroes and aliens) usually involving Canadian forests or grisly war scenarios - or ninjas, you never knew when you'd have to fight a ninja. Kurt, on the other hand, didn't see why he couldn't train and have a bit of fun at the same time.

"We can restart it from the top if you'd like," replied Kurt, leaping lightly off the railing and brushing past Blackbeard. "Danger Room - "

"End simulation." Finished Logan, unperturbed by Kurt's subsequent pout. "Sorry Elf, we just got a mission. Chuck wanted us out of here about five minutes ago, so suit up - and bring your sword."

* * *

Jean briefed them in the jet as they rocketed over miles of rolling green Westchester hills; she'd been leading the team since the genesis of the X-Men, shortly after she mastered her powers and the Phoenix Force. Everyone trusted her with their lives and she could direct everyone telepathically, plus she was a natural born leader.

"They call themselves the Brotherhood," she said, "we've fought a few of them before, but they have new players and they're better organized now." She sent mental images of Toad and Pyro, who had both been part of a smash-and-grab mutant gang for a while. "Fifteen minutes ago we picked up radio distress calls from a government mutant detainment facility outside New York City, and we assume their aim is to free the mutant detainees."

"You say _detainee_ like they aren't _prisoners_ ," interjected Ororo, "most of whom are only incarcerated because they couldn't control their powers."

"Or just because they're mutants," added Scott grimly. "If you get arrested for anything, whether it's petty theft or tax evasion or whatever, and you're a mutant, the odds of ending up in a place like this are a lot higher."

Jean turned to look at them all. "I know this sucks; none of us want to enforce locking up mutants who should be free, but the Professor says that these brotherhood people are untrained and violent, and they could seriously hurt the guards or even the mutants inside. There are also some very powerful and dangerous mutants inside, mutants who are real criminals and who _need_ to stay locked up."

Smoke trailed into the sky over the mutant detention center as it came into sight mere minutes later. The gate was blasted off its hinges and there was a smoldering, evil-looking hole where the front doors should have been. Two of the brotherhood mutants, Toad and an unfamiliar man in a hooded cloak, were still in the courtyard, but it looked like most of them were already inside somewhere.

Jean was quick to give orders; they didn't have a moment to waste. She and Ororo would clean up the guys in the courtyard while everyone else went inside, and Kurt had specific orders to 'port ahead and get as many guards out of harms way as possible, as well as scope out the other brotherhood members.

_I'm telepathically sending everyone the schematics to the building_ , said Jean, a moment before Kurt vanished in a puff of purplish smoke and reappeared inside the detainment building. Long gray concrete and metal corridors stretched out around him, red hazard lights blinking and sirens wailing. Plenty of signs of the brotherhood, but no people, not even a guard.

_The entry way is clear,_ he told Jean, so she could relay the info the the rest of the team. _It's a maze in here, though._

He did a swift survey of the building, 'porting from place to place and keeping to corner shadows and the ceiling. When he found the first guards, moaning and barely conscious, he 'ported them outside the gates, to where ambulances would be sure to find them. He found the brotherhood, too, and relayed their positions to Jean while he got all the guards out.

The brotherhood were releasing prisoners, just like Jean said they would, so the corridors quickly became a chaos of bodies. It seemed to Kurt that there were far too many prisoners here, almost all of them no older than he was. Some of them actually looked _younger_. He didn't keep them from escaping; he hoped they made it far, far away before the other authorities arrived.

He was getting ready to rejoin his team when someone blasted past him at incredible speed, knocking him off his feet. Instinctively, he 'ported as he fell, a move drilled into him from years as an acrobat. Landing lightly on his feet he found himself facing two mutants - Brotherhood, judging by their costumes - a man with silver hair and -

"Mein Gott, it's _you_."

The young woman's hands were raised for attack, red light wicking off her fingers, but her brow furrowed with confusion. "Do I know you?"

Kurt blinked to be sure. She looked different, dressed all in scarlet, a cape draped elegantly over one shoulder and a crown of glittering red jewels in her hair, but it was definitely the girl from the bar.

And she didn't recognize him.

But of course she wouldn't recognize him; he'd been wearing his image inducer at the bar, and though it mapped his body type and the structure of his face, he looked a lot different covered in blue fur.

To think that they'd had more in common than either of them knew that night, and yet here they were on opposite sides of the same war.

He blinked away his shock and forced a fangy smile. "Nein, but I know you. The Brotherhood's brand new red witch."

"It's the _Scarlet Witch_ , and I _do_ know who you are, X-Man." Her brow furrowed, and he knew she was trying to put a name to his face. Or maybe she just didn't know his name; English wasn't her first language any more than it was his. And as much as he liked to listen to her speak, he had a job to do here and it would be better to do it gently, while she was distracted.

"Enough of the meet-cute stuff," said the silver-haired mutant, tapping his foot so fast the ground quavered. "Wanda, blast him."

"You are _not_ the boss of me," Wanda replied, but the scarlet light around her hand intensified and she lobbed two balls of energy at him, which he dodged easily, 'porting behind the two mutants.

"You think you're fast?" the speedster's grin was wicked. "Dodge _this._ "

Kurt had no time to dodge or teleport this time; one moment he was on his feet and the next he was on the ground, being laughed at by the jackass speedster. He tried 'porting to the walls, or the ceiling, but gravity didn't deter the other man, and the speedster kept tripping him up.

" _Verdammt,_ " he growled, then an idea came to him. The next time the speedster tried to knock him down Kurt made a snatch at him and teleported. His timing must have been good because it worked, and he kept 'porting in dizzily rapid succession, finally leaving the speedster in a heap outside the prison.

That only left the girl.

All his teleporting was beginning to wear him out, but he returned to the prison, finding Wanda in the corridor not far from where he'd left her, checking cell numbers like she was looking for something - or more likely some _one._

"What have you done with my brother?" she asked, blue eyes narrowed on him.

"I merely put him in timeout for misbehaving," he replied lightly, drawing his sword from its sheath on his back. He typically never used it against mutants - or people - because it was incredibly sharp and could do a lot of damage, but he might need to deflect more of those energy balls, and it made him look more impressive, which helped make up for being knocked on his ass.

She looked as imperious as a queen in her glittering headpiece, stalking along the corridor with that cape drifting out behind her. "Erik said we might have some competition, but I didn't want to believe that the famous X-Men would turn on their own kind."

"We would _never_ turn on other mutants," Kurt replied, "but attacking the facility like this won't solve anything, and when people are hurt by mutants it makes everything worse, for all of us. The rift between humans and mutants cannot be healed through violence."

"The humans aren't interested in _healing._ They want to wipe us out."

_Kurt, where are you?_ Jean's voice in his head interrupted the conversation. _You were supposed to regroup. Shield is incoming in five, we're good to go._

_I'm coming,_ he thought, _I just got held up._

To Wanda he said, "Shield is sending in backup, which probably means sentinels. There is no way you'll be able to get all these prisoners out before they get here, you should cut your losses, get out while you have the chance."

At that moment the speedster - her brother - arrived, looking rumpled and angry. He'd recovered quickly. "Everyone else is out or bailing, it's time to get this over with."

Wanda smiled at Kurt, a coy, knowing smile. "We're not here to rescue all the prisoners. We're here to rescue _one_."

Then the speedster took her hand and zipped away so fast it stole Kurt's breath.


	4. Lorna

The girl had green hair and a steel collar around her neck.

At first glance she looked too young to be in prison - certainly, she wasn't older than eighteen - sitting at the back of her cell with her elbows resting on her knees, looking for all the world like she didn't care about the current chaos in the rest of the prison.

"You're sure this is her?" asked Wanda, opening the cell door with a twist of her powers.

"Cell F24, green hair, whatever." Pietro shrugged. He was clearly getting impatient with all this, the initial adrenaline and excitement wearing off. Wanda rolled her eyes; she swore he had the attention span of an over-caffeinated toddler. But then he zipped into the cell, and grinned that 100 kilowatt grin, and she remembered that however much her brother was annoying, he was just a little bit more lovable. "Chin up kid, we're the good guys."

Wanda followed him in, kneeling on the cold concrete floor beside the girl. What a sight they must make, dressed up in costumes like superheroes. They weren't superheroes, not X-Men or Avengers. They were freedom fighters. Anarchists.

But Pietro was right. They _were_ the good guys. X-Men be damned.

"We're going to get you out of here, but we have to be quick," Wanda said gently, extending her hand towards the girl. "Let's start with getting this collar off."

The girl swallowed visibly, but her she finally raised her green eyes to meet Wanda's. "Are you going to kill them?"

Wanda hesitated. "The guards? We're not here to kill anyone."

The girl's jaw set, but she didn't move away so Wanda took that as her cue. Her brow furrowed as she wrenched the collar around the girl's neck open; for some reason it resisted her.

"Are you two ready to go or what?" Pietro asked impatiently. "We're running out of time."

Wanda rolled her eyes. "Aren't you always saying that you can run faster than time? Shut _up._ " She offered the girl her hand. "What's your name?"

The girl's eyes narrowed. She didn't trust them and Wanda couldn't blame her. "Lorna."

"Hi Lorna," Wanda smiled, "I'm Wanda. I really hate to rush you but motormouth is right, if you want to get out it has to be _now_."

The girl looked down at the broken collar, her mouth twisting into a scowl as she raised one hand and clenched it into a fist. The metal collar reacted to the movement, crumpling into ball with an audible crunching sound. Then she looked up, took Wanda's offered hand, and nodded. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

Pyro said, "So, she's Erik's kid, right? I'm not the only one who sees it?"

They were back at the brotherhood apartment an hour later, Rogue, Wanda, Pietro, John, and Morty eating an impromptu meal of cold pizza and fried chicken sandwiches in the kitchen while keeping an eye on Lorna where she sat a room away in what passed for the apartment's living room, a muted news channel running in the background as she stared at a soda can floating between her hands. It seemed like she couldn't quite believe that she'd gotten her powers back after who knew how long.

Wanda lowered her voice so Lorna wouldn't hear, sending dagger-eyes at John for not doing the same. "It would make sense. Her powers seem to be the same, or similar, and why else would he want to rescue this one girl out of all those prisoners? There were some pretty powerful mutants in there."

Pietro shoved half a sandwich into his mouth and spoke with his mouth full. "Damn, do you think she knows? Imagine finding out your father is fucking _Magneto_."

"Yeah, I'd be pretty shocked to find out my dad was banging a hot omega mutant criminal," snorted John, he and Morty sniggering as Pietro glowered.

Rogue shook her head at them. "Erik's alright, but I don't know if he'd be an awesome or terrifying dad."

Wanda thought she knew the answer, and it was none of the above. No one cared about mutants like Erik did, but he didn't seem like a family man to her. His passion was the fight for mutant rights, his anger at the injustice of the world consuming him (Wanda could relate) every waking moment spent working towards whatever his end goal was. Married to his job, would be the American term. Whatever relationship he'd had with Lorna's mother, or could have had with Lorna, had been wiped out by his crusade. But even so, he _had_ gotten her out of prison. Clearly he cared about Lorna in his own way.

Shaking her head, Wanda said, "She was in prison; I don't think he's going to be winning any father of the year awards."

"Someone aught to go talk to her," Rogue said, but she was already looking at Wanda.

"Why me?" she asked, biting the inside of her cheek. "I don't think she likes me much."

"You want one of these dickheads to do it?" Rogue indicated the boys, who were having their own conversation. "And you know I'm not always the best with people. Anyways, you rescued her, I'm sure she's just shy."

"Alright." Wanda sighed and put together a sandwich for Lorna, an offering to break the ice. Then she cast Rogue another beleaguered look before walking into the living room.

"Lorna?" She sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and offered her the plate. "I thought you might be hungry."

The younger girl blinked big, sullen green eyes at her for a moment before gingerly accepting the food. She didn't make any move to eat it, though.

"Okay..." Wanda couldn't imagine what Lorna had gone through in that prison, so if she didn't want to talk she wouldn't push her. "You're probably tired, too. Did Rogue find you a room? You can stay in our room if you want." She didn't know how Lorna felt about living in an apartment full of rowdy boys, though she suspected the girl could take care of herself.

Lorna looked down at her plate and said nothing.

"There are some clothes in the closet by the bathroom, and if you need anything else you can ask me or Rogue. We usually send my brother Pietro out if we need food or anything else, but we're not trapped here. We're supposed to keep a low profile but we're allowed to go out; we could go shopping if you want? But I guess we're all wanted criminals now, and you just got out of jail."

Wanda realized that she'd been rambling and stopped. "I just want you to know that we're here for you, if you need to talk..."

"Don't bother, I won't be here long." Lorna looked away, the tin can crumpling and dropping to the ground. "Someone always sends me back."

* * *


	5. Prison Blues

_The next day_

Kurt couldn't stop thinking about the prison.

All the mutants there, so many of them so young, trapped less by their actions and more by their x-gene; it wasn't lost on him that a lot of the mutants in the facility exhibited visible mutations. Mutants that people didn't want on the street, scaring people just by being different, _looking_ different. It wasn't lost on him that were it not for Xavier and the X-Men, he probably would have ended up in a place like that - or worse. Probably worse.

Even those who were inside for committing legitimate crimes were likely forced into crime by their impossible situation. It was harder for mutants to find employment, and housing, and medical care. It was also difficult for mutants to not push back against the bigotry and unfairness they faced every day, and that sometimes led to violence. They deserving of a second chance. Someone had to forgive them, give them another chance. A _better_ chance.

Which was how he found himself sitting in Xavier's office, tail twitching with a frisson of nervousness as he laid out his proposal.

When he finished, Xavier steepled his fingers together on the polished surface of his desk, blue eyes thoughtful. "You want me to convince S.H.I.E.L.D to give us custody over some of the mutants in the detainment facility?"

"It could be like probation, and we could start with less dangerous mutants who don't deserve to be imprisoned. The Brotherhood may have been wrong to attack the detainment facility, but they were right about getting those mutants out of there."

Xavier rubbed his brow, which was showing a few more creases as of late. "I agree, however our position here is still tenuous, and after the events of yesterday things are more tense than usual. I can contact S.H.I.E.L.D. and try to collect on a few favors, but I can make no promises."

* * *

Xavier's favors must have been compelling because two days later Kurt was on his way back to the detainment facility to speak with the director and figure out which mutants would be the best fit for their new rehabilitation program. The facility was already up and running just a few days after the Brotherhood attack; it was incredible how fast the government could provide resources when they were locking up mutants.

Walking into a mutant detainment facility by himself was nerve-wracking, to say the least - until S.H.I.E.L.D.'s liaison introduced himself at the gate. 

"Sam Wilson," he said, offering his hand to shake.

Kurt shook it, trying to contain a giddy smile at meeting a real life Avenger. "I know."

Sam's smile said that he was used to this reaction, but it wasn't unwelcome. He wore casual civilian clothes, a simple dark green t-shirt and jeans, looking for all intents and purposes like a normal guy and not someone who helps save the world on a regular basis. He seemed down to earth, which was frankly ironic. 

Kurt blushed. "I'm sorry, I just didn't know what to expect, I wasn't really prepared to meet the Falcon today."

Sam chuckled, "That's alright, you aren't really what I was expecting either. I just happened to be in the area and heard about what you're doing here. I wanted to help."

"I don't think I'm what anyone expects," said Kurt, still blushing, "but thank you."

A correctional officer lead them on a tour through the halls, mostly staying silent and blank-faced as he guided them from prisoner to prisoner. Kurt was mostly focusing on the younger mutants, teenagers eighteen and younger (which should have been illegal, but was somehow less illegal than having an x-gene). He wanted to get these kids out of here and enrolled at Xavier's. They had the room and the resources - they just needed to convince S.H.I.E.L.D. to release them into their custody.

They spent an hour walking around the cell blocks, looking at the prisoner files on a tablet and talking to the kids. Many of the cells were empty after the Brotherhood debacle, so there were only a few kids to choose from - which really meant that Kurt chose _all of them._ No way he was going to leave any kids in here. No debate about dangerous powers or criminal records could justify locking up underage children.

An hour later they were done, at least with the first step of getting these kids out of prison. Xavier would help with the rest.

Kurt turned to Sam before the Avenger left. "It means a lot, having your support. "

"I want to do what I can," Sam replied, looking down the long cell block. "I know what it's like to see your people persecuted just for being who they are. We have to stand together against injustice like this."

Sam shook Kurt's hand before they went their separate ways.

Kurt was supposed to head out, but found himself lingering instead. Their little 'tour' of the facility had ended near where he'd encountered the Brotherhood twins. Wanda and her brother. He still couldn't believe she was the girl from the bar. What were the odds of that, really? It was so impossible that it almost felt...meant to be.

"I know dat look, mon ami," said a voice from the left, "'tis a woman on your mind."

Kurt turned to find one of the mutant prisoners looking at him through the bars of his cell; he sat at the back with his long legs stretched out in front of him, idly turning a playing card over in his hands. Brown hair, scruffy beard, black eyes that burned red at their centers - Kurt recognized him when he met that strange gaze. Gambit. The X-Men had run into the thief twice in the past three years, though they weren't the reason he was in here now.

Kurt...wasn't a big fan of the mutant thief.

Remy smiled. "Ah yes, I see you remember me. We're old friends, no? You can tell ol' Gambit what troubles you."

"I'm not troubled by anything," said Kurt, then kicked himself for lying. He was troubled by a lot of things lately, but he wasn't about to tell Gambit that. Of all the mutants in here this one was a real criminal, one who couldn't be trusted.

"You can't fool me on matters of the heart, mon ami, especially when it come to troubles."

"It's not a matter of the heart," said Kurt, then paused. Remy looked...really sad actually. He was holding on to his charming, nonchalant persona but there was something mournful in his eyes, something longing. The way he kept turning over the playing card in his hand - the queen of hearts - was almost wistful, and maybe a little bitter.

Kurt shook his head. He wasn't here sympathize with Remy LeBeau of all people.

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, cursed himself a little, then asked, "Are you okay, Gambit?"

Remy shook his head morosely. "She was here, close enough t' touch almost...I swear a woman never looked more beautiful..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Funny 'ting is, I thought she was here for _me._ I knew no one would ever come for me, I've always been on my own you know, but there she was standing where you're standing, and I _believed_."

It must have been the Brotherhood attack, when they were releasing mutants as a distraction. Kurt still didn't know all of their team members, but he knew there weren't many women. What were the odds he was talking about Wanda? Why did it matter if he was?

Remy closed his fist around the card. "She left me in here. She let everyone on the cell block out but she left me in here."

"I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"She told me to rot in hell. Believe me...it was personal."

* * *

Kurt was back in Xavier's office at the end of the day, the red glow of sunset pouring in the the windows behind the telepath's desk. Kurt felt good about the choices he made for the start of the mutant "criminal" rehabilitation program...more or less. It wasn't as much as he wanted to do. There were legislative issues and prison reforms that needed to happen, but this was still a good start. A better start than he'd hoped for.

Xavier looked down his nose at the file, brow creased thoughtfully. "I have only one concern."

"Gambit?"

"Gambit." Xavier closed the file and set it on his desk. "He's a thief, and a very dangerous one, with ties to a number of nefarious underground syndicates."

Kurt hadn't intended to put Gambit's name down on the list, it had just happened. He was the opposite of the types of prisoners Kurt had been looking to get out. He'd mostly been trying to get mutants out that should never have been in there in the first place. Not criminals wanted in more than one country. There was no way Gambit would be approved for the program, anyways.

"I know..." said Kurt, remembered the mournful look on Gambit's face and wondering again if he'd been played. "But he's not a murderer or a terrorist, and he seemed really down..."

Xavier raised one eyebrow. "You want to recruit Gambit because he's...sad?"

"He seemed really lonely. Maybe being a part of a group, having a purposes, would help him turn over a new leaf more than being in prison would."

"He does have a useful skill set..." Xavier pinched the skin between his brows and let out a sigh. "I can't believe I'm actually considering this. What is the world coming to, that I'm considering this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You want to recruit Gambit because he's...SAD??? lol YES professor you don't understand he was going to CRY


	6. New York

"Lorna? Do you want breakfast?" Wanda stood outside the door of the room Lorna had closeted herself away in for most of the past three days, holding a plate with a pile of scrambled eggs and a glazed doughnut on it. "You don't have to come out, I can just leave it here."

After spending so much time in a prison cell you'd think Lorna would want some freedom, but maybe she was just having a difficult time adjusting. You'd also think that if Erik was really her father he would have shown up by now, but no one had seen him since before their mission to rescue Lorna. Maybe they were wrong, and Lorna was just a powerful mutant he wanted to recruit.

One story below, the doorbell rang.

"I didn't even know we had a doorbell," Wanda muttered, knocking loudly on Lorna's door again. "Lorna, I'm going to leave some food outside your door, alright? I'm walking away now."

She left the plate on the floor and took a few steps back, but the door still didn't budge. She sighed. The Brotherhood had settled into a vague sort of equilibrium before the mission, like a really dysfunctional family, but now everything felt off kilter again. Wanda didn't like feeling off kilter.

One story below, Rogue and John yelled at each other over who should open the door.

Could it be the authorities? Had they found them after the attack on the prison last night?

Wanda heard the front door creak open, the mumble of Rogue's Southern drawl, and then, "Wanda! It's for you!"

For _her?_ That was impossible, everyone she knew in New York were currently in the building already, except for Erik, and he never knocked.

Rogue met her coming up the stairs, a grin playing across her lips. "You've been keeping secrets, sugah. When did you meet such a dish, and without tellin' me?"

"What?" asked Wanda, unsure what Rogue was talking about. She was even more confused when she finally saw who was at the door.

"Worthington?"

The young Hellfire mutant stood in the doorway, his blond hair neatly combed back and an expensive trench coat hiding his wings. He winked. "Please, call me Warren. Worthington is my father."

"You're here to see _me_?"

"Actually I'm here to deliver this." He proffered a sleek white gift box.

"Oh? We already got our uniforms."

"It's for Erik, actually." He lifted to lid to give her a peek of soft folds of royal purple fabric. "Emma hates it."

Wanda arched an eyebrow. "You could have just given this to Rogue."

Warren smiled. "I could have, but I wanted to see you. I was wondering if you wanted a tour of the city."

Wanda could feel Rogue spying on them from the top of the stairs; and she knew that Warren was asking her _out_ , as in _on a date_. She knew Rogue would tell her to say yes.

"I haven't had a tour of the city yet, so that would be...great." She smiled, then blinked after her pause stretched long. "Oh, you mean now?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I mean, I have the afternoon free."

Wanda bit her lip. "I'll just grab my coat, then."

By the time she grabbed her coat his car had pulled around, a sleek black Mercedes-Benz that gleamed like polished black diamond against the dingy gray of the street. They both climbed into the back, Warren directing the driver, and they slid into motion, city blocks quickly blurring together. The car was so quiet that she could almost hear her own heartbeat, and the plush gray leather so pristine it made her wish she'd at least changed out of her jeans and tank top, though she didn't really have anything better. Maybe she _would_ convince Rogue and Lorna to go shopping. They couldn't be so recognizable without their costumes, and anyways, she was going out _now_.

"I wish I could offer you a drink," Warren said, turning to her with that perpetual half-smile in place. "If I'd taken the limo we'd have champagne and a TV. You could watch yourself on the news."

"Oh, god," Wanda said, giving a self-deprecating laugh. "In that case I'm glad you _didn't_ take the limo."

She had seen the news coverage, of course. They'd had their own little viewing party with pizza and beer, and it was probably one of the most surreal experiences of Wanda's life. Back in Europe her uncle had had an ancient little portable TV that got as much static as anything, and only ever caught the BBC for some reason, but when they were small she and Pietro would watch with rapture the little people in places that seemed infinitely far away. She'd never imagined that she would someday be on TV herself, and on national news no less. She wasn't in most of the footage, at least. They cycled through the same flashy segments on every channel, prison surveillance footage of John lighting up the guard station and a blurry shot of Morty with his tongue wrapped around a guard's helmet (it was no coincidence that they used that picture to punctuate every time they used the word _mutant_ or _freak_ , and it made her sick) but there was one clip of Wanda in the corridors with the X-Man Nightcrawler, shot from over his shoulder so you could see the scarlet aura around her like a lens flare, her eyes catching the light and glowing red.

She looked powerful.

She looked like someone to fear.

The car slowed to a stop on a street bustling with trendy little shops and Warren turned to her. "I was thinking we could start with coffee, do you drink coffee?"

"I love coffee," she replied, smiling and shaking the thoughts of being forever branded a mutant terrorist from her mind.

They got out and he bought two coffees from an adorable little vendor. They sipped the hot beverages as they walked down the sidewalk, Warren jabbering on about the best sights to see and Wanda trying hard not to gawk. She'd been living in New York city for six months but she'd barely even scratched the surface of the city - not even. She'd barely left the brotherhood house.

Now she let herself take in this small part of it, the name-brand boutiques and sleek shoppers, big box stores made of all glass, and over it all towered skyscrapers taller than some mountains she'd climbed. Everything was so big and so loud and confusing - she couldn't get back to the brotherhood house if she tried - but is was also dynamic and colorful and _wonderful_. New York city made her feel alive.

"So Wanda..." said Warren, drawing her attention away from their surroundings, "how did you end up here? You're a long way from home, right?"

Her mood dimmed at the question. She didn't want to think about how she got here, the fire and the screaming - she could almost hear that screaming now, building up like a migraine pulsing at her temples.

"Erik brought us here." She shrugged and tried to change the subject. "I heard that _you_ used to be an X-Man. What changed?"

His dazzling smile faltered. "I did. I'm not going to lie, I loved going to the Xavier institute, back when it was just a school for mutants. I didn't have to hide, I could use my powers as much as I wanted, I could _fly_. My father disapproved, he couldn't be more ashamed to have a gene freak for a son, and nothing I ever did could really make him proud. When we started the X-Men I think I just wanted to prove to myself that I didn't care what he thought. Daddy issues, am I right?"

Wanda looked down at her coffee cup. "I wouldn't know."

His blue eyes blinked, that confident facade slipping again. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

She shook her head, trying to come off light and casual, teasing almost. "Don't try and change the subject. You still haven't told me what happened with you and the X-Men."

He shrugged. "One day I just realized that it would never be enough. Xavier doesn't have the power or the vision that the Hellfire club has. You can't imagine their reach, Wanda. We're going to change the world."


	7. New Mutants

_One month later_

"Welcome to the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters," said Jean, smiling beatifically at the group of new students as she led them on a tour of the school grounds. There were five of them, all from the detainment facility, all about sixteen years old. They were all dangerous, and unstable, and it had been hell to get them out of that prison legally, but they could finally get help here. When they learned to control their powers they would no longer be a danger to society; they could have relatively normal lives. They could be _free_.

Kurt watched them from his perch on a low retaining wall; he'd interviewed them all and chosen them for the program, and it was nice to see them outside the context of prison walls. Some of them took to their new freedom more readily than others. Red-haired Rahne turned into a wolf and bounded around the grass. The other two girls - Danielle and Karma looked wary but hopeful, Danielle being the most doubtful. Her powers would be a challenge to control, but Kurt believed she was strong enough to master them. Both Sam and Roberto looked bored to death by Jean's tour. C'mon boys, this can't be less interesting than prison. Can it?

Bobby, Kitty, and another newish student, Ilyana, had also come out to welcome the newbies. Or Bobby and Kitty were there to welcome them. Ilyana was there because Kitty dragged her.

"It seems I have you to thank for getting me out of de clink, mon ami," said Remy, appearing as if out of nowhere. Kurt cursed the thief's light step.

Gambit looked better than he had in prison, his scruff trimmed a bit, his clothes washed. He still looked disreputable, but almost passed as just plain roguish.

"How are you finding your accommodations, Remy?"

"A little bougie, " He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and surveyed the lawn. "What does a man have to do to get a drink around here?"

"This is a school, we don't allow drinking on campus."

"'Tis a shame, considering I'm not allowed to leave without an escort, and I haven't had a proper bourbon in six months." He looked at Kurt and raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't be mindin' a drink yourself, now would you?"

"You're not allowed to leave?" asked Kurt, scrunching his brow. "Did Xavier tell you that?"

"Non, your scary friend over there. He don't trust me much." He nodded to where Logan stood. "It seems I find myself in another prison, mon ami, though compared to my last residence the comforts here are exemplary."

Kurt hadn't fully considered all the details of their reform program - Xavier was in charge, and the others were on board too - so he wasn't sure what rules had been applied to Remy and the others. Were the kids allowed to leave the property without an escort? He'd have to ask. It made sense to keep the kids from getting into trouble, but he also wanted them to feel trusted, not trapped.

"Are you tied up here?" Remy scratched at his jaw. "'Cause I be needing to retrieve some of my...personal effects from my place in the city, you understand? "

Kurt sighed. The best way to turn Remy into a team player would be to treat him as a friend, which was a little easier said than done. "How far is it?"

"Not far at all for someone of your particular talents."

Kurt shook his head. "I'm not teleporting you and all your stuff halfway across the state. We'll take a car."

An hour later they were pulling up outside a rundown old rowhouse in Manhattan. Boards covered some of the windows on the lower floor, a rude sign hanging in the topmost window, autumn brown weeds growing up through the cracked sidewalk. The sort of place that always has rats in the walls and poor heating. It's not really surprising that this is where Remy used to live, but it definitely doesn't look vacant. Lights shine through most of the windows and someone inside is playing music loud enough for Kurt to feel it in his bones.

"This is your place? Do you have roommates?"

Remy laughed, hanging one arm out the open driver's side window. Kurt had let him drive, because he knew where they were going. "I never lived here, this is just a little errand I have to run. My cherie lives here."

Kurt thumped one palm against his forehead. Of course Remy didn't just want help getting his stuff. "The girl from the prison, your...ex? She lives here? Please tell me we're not stalking her."

"Non, non, there is just something I have to do." Remy got out and closed the door, taking something Kurt couldn't see out of his coat. "Watch out for the rest 'o the gang."

It was then that it dawned on Kurt where they were. A sinking feeling twinged in his stomach. "This is the Brotherhood house. What the hell are we doing here?"

"I'm in love, mon ami. Love makes you do strange 'tings."

Kurt watched helplessly as Remy sauntered up to the door, leaving something tucked into the frame before knocking and sauntering back towards the car. He was about halfway back when the door flew open and out stormed the auburn-haired girl from the bar. The one with the soft Southern accent and a white stripe in her hair.

She hadn't looked nearly so angry that night at the bar. In fact, Kurt remembered her being quite funny.

"Swamp rat!" she shouted, hands on hips. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Remy turned around, hands held up in a beseeching gesture. "Cherie -"

"Don't you _cherie_ me." Even from a distance she looked livid. Kurt ducked down into the seat to avoid being seen. He didn't want to get caught in _that_ crossfire. "I left you in jail, right where you belong, and you better be getting on back there before ah - "

Kurt didn't hear the rest, because Remy decided he didn't want to face the redhead's wrath either and skedaddled back to the car, hopping in and revving the engine. He looked to Kurt. "I wouldn't be mindin' if you used your powers right about now."

"Just _drive._ " As Remy drove off Kurt twisted around in his seat to look back. The girl was still standing on the edge of the street with her hands on her hips, a lone playing card flipping in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know I never even mention Piotr leave me alone


	8. Runaway

"Pleeeeeeeeease Pietro? I'm _begging_ you."

"For the last time no! I'm not going to clean up the whole house just because I'm the fastest, coolest member of the team."

"And most humble," mumbled Rogue.

They were trying to convince Pietro to clean the house, because Erik had decided to officially move in (though he still hadn't had so much as a conversation with Lorna) and he wanted the place to look _spick and span_ as he said, which was asking a lot considering that no one had done any cleaning in six months.

"But it's going to take _forever_ ," whined Wanda, giving him her best and most manipulative cute little sister face. It was a trick she hadn't used in a long time; her hexes and reality bending powers were one thing, but this was what really gave her too much power. "It would take you like, _five seconds_. Probably _less_. Don't you want to prove that you're faster than that Canadian speedster guy?"

"Northstar would totally lose to me in a race," said Pietro, looking both smug and stubborn. "And he's not as hot as me, either."

Wanda let out a frustrated breath. There was no way she was cleaning the boy's bathroom. This called for drastic measures. "Fine. If you clean...I'll cook."

That got his attention. "You're serious? But you haven't cooked at all in _months_."

"That's because I'm not you boys' mother, and anyways, I like takeout."

"Fine." He finally agreed. "I'll clean if you'll cook."

An hour later Wanda was slicing bell peppers and onions in a miraculously spotless kitchen, a pot of pasta bubbling on the stove. Rogue sat on a stool nearby, rolling out dough for cookies - they had kicked the boys out, because they were annoying and because Pietro could steal cookie dough faster than anyone could stop him - and Wanda had to admit that it was kind of calming to cook again. There was so little to do when she was cooped up inside that it was nice to have something to keep her hands and thoughts busy, even though it _did_ remind her of her aunt...

"Just like Mamma used to make," said Rogue, putting a tray of cookies in the oven and chuckling to herself. "Straight from the supermarket to the oven."

"They _smell_ delicious, at least." Wanda finished chopping vegetables and started pouring oil into a sauce pan. She was honestly surprised that they _had_ a sauce pan.

She was just stirring her vegetables into the sizzling oil when Mortimer burst through the door, panic written clearly across his greenish face. "She's trying to run again!"

Wanda dropped her spoon and flew out of the kitchen. It had been just over a month since they had rescued Lorna and this was the fourth time she'd tried to run. The first time she'd waited a few days, stockpiling food and supplies in a backpack she'd found before sneaking out in the middle of the night. It had taken them all hours to track her down at a bus station _five miles_ from the house. After the second or third time they might have just let her go, but none of them wanted to be the one to lose Erik's daughter.

Wanda also knew firsthand how dangerous it could be for a mutant on their own.

She burst through the front door to see Lorna running down the dark, empty street. She was already too far; Wanda couldn't catch up, and she'd sent Pietro out for basil. Time for desperate measures.

"Lorna stop!"

When the other girl didn't stop Wanda raised her hands, bathing the street in red light as the asphalt around Wanda rippled out towards Lorna, buckling like a microseism and tripping her up.

She fell to her knees and screamed. "Just let me _go_! I don't need you and I don't want to be here!"

Wanda picked her way over the broken road, dodging a crumpled beer can and several nails that Lorna sent flying towards her. "Just because you have superpowers that doesn't make you an adult - " a car parked down the street started to rattle - "not that you're just a kid - I'm barely an adult myself, and I'm not trying to be your parent. I just don't want you to get yourself killed out there."

"You don't understand. I'm better off on my own, I can take care of myself. If I stay here they're just going to lock me up again."

"Erik won't lock you up, he sent us to get you out of prison. He would _never_ send you back."

"I know you think he's my dad." She looked at her hands, scraped red from the concrete. "I know you're probably right, I'm not stupid. But even if he wants me now, he won't want me after...after he realizes that I can't be fixed."

"You're not something that needs to be fixed, and you're not any more broken than...than anyone else here." Wanda knelt on the road beside Lorna, gently turning the other girl's face up so she could see how serious she was. "No one is locking you up again, you hear me? I won't let them. I promise."

* * *

Even after bringing Lorna back they somehow managed to get dinner cooked and everyone in one room for a meal together, even if that room was the living room with the TV blaring a loud American sports game. Wanda might have preferred to escape to her room, considering that Jason was sitting in the armchair and he gave her the creeps, but she was making an effort to show Lorna that she was a part of this messed up team.

Wanda opted to sit on the floor, because there wasn't enough seating and because it put her as far from Jason as possible. To her surprise, Lorna sat beside her, balancing her plate on her folded knees. Maybe Wanda was starting to get through to her; it _was_ nice to have another girl around.

The boys watched the sports game and cheered, Wanda following vaguely along as she ate. If it were up to her they'd be watching a romantic period drama, or even a medical soap opera.

"What team are we rooting for again?" Wanda asked Lorna, casually turning her focus onto the younger girl. She'd come to learn that there was a fine line between support and smothering for Lorna. She wasn't used to people caring about her.

"Green."

"Of course." Wanda smiled as Lorna touched the ends of her hair. "I'm not really a sports fan, but I'm familiar with rugby more than football."

Lorna's nose crinkled. "This is soccer."

"Wanda's not wrong, American _soccer_ as you call it is far more aptly called football in most central European countries." The room seemed to freeze for a moment as everyone stared at Erik standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He idly watched the game for a moment, then asked, very casually, "Is there room for one more?"

It was Wanda who snapped out of it first. "Of course. You can scrape the bottom of the pot if you want, too."

"Aw hell, the _cookies!_ " gasped Rogue, leaping to her feet and tearing past a bewildered Erik into the kitchen. What followed was a series of banging oven doors, smoke pouring into the living room, and a lot of very colorful Southern cussing.

"Should I go help with that?" asked Erik, looking for once out of his element.

"I'll get it." Wanda shook her head as she got to her feet. "Pietro, run and get some cookies from the store, I have a feeling we'll be needing them."

* * *


	9. The Trap

It was supposed to be a simple mission.

There was a warehouse full of a new power-inhibiting collar prototype at the harbor - Wanda didn't know where this information came from, probably a contact of the Hellfire club - they would be there for one night before being shipped off to who-knew-where, to be used to render mutants powerless in a world that wanted them annihilated.

Their task was to destroy them.

It should have been simple. A half dozen guards who could be easily distracted by Mastermind, a little fire from Pyro, Wanda and Lorna working their particular powers. Easy.

But no one told them the guards were going to be _X-Men_.

It started out okay; the Brotherhood arrived at the warehouse, Pietro did a quick perimeter check (only five guards, but the doors were locked and he couldn't get inside) and then he, Wanda, Lorna, and John waited in an alleyway while Mastermind strode across the street to the first pair of guards. The plan was to get them to call the others over, then keep them distracted while they torched to inside of the warehouse.

That's not what happened.

It was strange to watch, really, knowing that the guards would be seeing an illusion without seeing it herself. The guards all wore nondescript black uniforms without any logo - hired thugs, or contract guys - and helmets that shielded their faces. They said something she couldn't make out as they caught sight of Mastermind (or rather, whatever he made them see) then there was shouting, another guard racing around the corner, everything going to shit in less than three seconds flat.

One moment there were three guards in a confused swirl of illusion, the next one of them was pouncing on Mastermind, three long claws shooting out of his knuckles. Lightning hissed and crackled in the air.

Mutants. _X-Men_.

"This is about to get messy," Pietro said, looking back at Wanda. "We could bail."

As much as she didn't care about Jason, Wanda didn't want him to get killed - and she didn't want those collars getting shipped out, either. Her brother waited for a moment (very patiently for him) and let her decide whether or not they should stay or go. When it came down to it, it was always the two of them as a team. No one else really mattered.

Except...

Wanda looked to Lorna, whose eyes had widened when the fight started. This was her first mission, and it was supposed to be a simple one. A job like this should have only taken one or two of them, but Erik had sent extra backup to make sure things went smoothly. So much for that.

Lorna's green eyes were still wide, but her jaw set as she met Wanda's gaze. "I don't want to run away anymore."

Wanda nodded. "I've been wanting a rematch with the X-Men ever since that prison."

Pietro grinned. "Then lets go fuck 'em up."

* * *

_Mastermind is here_ , Jean's voice rang through Kurt's head as he came out of the shadows and joined the fray, _I'm doing my best to shield everyone's mind but it's tricky with five people. Be careful._

Night ops were some of his favorite; his ability to draw shadows around him like a cloak gave him a distinct advantage, especially paired with his wall crawling. And of course, he always brought his favorite sword.

The skirmish itself was chaos. Confusion. Searing flashes of fire and red light and lightning burning up the night. That he could help with. Teleporting out of the shadows he seized one of Pyro's flame throwers and 'ported it away, tearing it free of his arm as he did but getting his tail a little singed in the process. Logan took out the other arm, which put a serious dampener on the Aussie mutant, so Kurt turned his attention elsewhere.

The speedster was a problem; you couldn't fight what you could barely see most of the time - and there was a new player, a young girl with green hair that stood out like neon against the shadows. She seemed too young to be a part of this, barely old enough to drive.

That didn't stop her from hurling a trashcan at his head.

He 'ported out of the way, only to find himself facing a new adversary. A man in a hooded coat who Kurt didn't recognize...until he turned around.

_Stephan._

Kurt's heart pounded as his foster brother advanced, one hand held out like a miracle. He looked just as he had a year ago, every hair in place, down to the faint scar on his forehead that he'd gotten from one of Kurt's pranks gone awry.

But that was impossible. Stephan was _dead_.

And yet, maybe it wasn't impossible. Christ raised Lazarus from the dead in the Gospel of John, and lived again himself after three days in the tomb. Impossible - improbable - things existed in this world. Kurt himself was proof of that.

So why _not_ a miracle?

"Hast du mich vermisst, Bruder?" _Did you miss me, brother?_

He sounded just the same, the deep, rich tone of his voice so _familiar_ , and yet...somehow wrong.

"Während ich in meinem Grab lag?" _While I lay in my grave?  
_

As Kurt watched, Stephan's face crumbled, bone showing through rotting flesh, one eye sinking into the socket. The hand he held out was nothing but bones, and that once familiar voice grating. _Your fault,_ he said. _This is your fault._

"You're not real," Kurt whispered in German. "You can't be here because I killed you."

He knew this was Mastermind. He knew it had to be. But he couldn't quite make himself believe it. It was all so real.

He could reach out to Jean; maybe she could protect him from this. He knew that's what teammates were for. But maybe he believed he deserved this, just a little bit. It was the Catholic in him, believing in a just punishment.

Then the vision of Stephan was gone, leaving Mastermind crumpled on the ground with Logan standing behind him. "Jeannie said you could use some backup."

Kurt let out a breath of relief. "Thank you, mein Freund."

"Return the favor and distract that red witch, Jeannie's trying to take out the speedster but they make a helluva team."

* * *

Wanda wasn't sure she could go head-to-head with the red-haired telepath without Pietro.

The woman was more powerful than any mutant she'd ever come in contact with, _including_ Erik. Fortunately for them she was distracted by protecting her team, which made it possible for Wanda and Pietro to hold their own against her.

Even if Wanda was also keeping an eye on Lorna.

What made the X-Men's leader so hard to combat was her use of both mental _and_ physical attacks simultaneously. Emma Frost had taught them how to shield their minds against telepathy, but it became increasingly difficult to do so when someone's hurling telekinetic blows at your head.

"Don't forget to shield your mind against her." Wanda told Pietro as he whizzed by. "I know your mind is hard to read because you're so fast, but she's powerful."

"No thoughts, head empty." Pietro gave her two thumbs up. "Got it. Let's sweep this girl off her feet."

"Shouldn't be a problem for you," said Wanda as she deflected a telekinetic attack. She was about to volley back her own attack when - _BAMF!_ \- Nightcrawler 'ported in to head her off.

"Guten Tag, Fraulein," he said cheerfully, as if they were friends meeting at the park instead of enemies battling in the dark. "Can I kindly ask you to leave?"

Her clenched fists glowed scarlet. "Can I kindly ask _you_ to?"

"Sadly no," he said congenially. "You're sure you wouldn't rather go settle our differences over coffee? No? It was worth a try."

He'd singled her out, and why? An easy target? She couldn't believe that.

No. He was just trying to distract her long enough for the redhead to take out Pietro.

"Leave my brother _alone_." She hurled two blazing red hex bolts at him but he dodged them easily, getting close enough to grab her wrist -

BAMF!

Suddenly she was at the other end of the warehouse, a hundred yards from the main battle. Her stomach twisted, and her head throbbed dizzily. She swayed just a little on her feet.

"The first go around the Ferris wheel is always the hardest," Nightcrawler said lightly, "do you want to go again?"

"I'll blast the Ferris wheel off its axis next time," she growled, teeth clenched as she summoned more hex bolts. They would work well on him, he was too fast, but they could distract him for just long enough...He dodged her hex bolts just like she anticipated, but stumbled as the concrete beneath his feet softened into a quicksand-like consistency. He looked surprised.

"What _is_ your power set?" He asked, teleporting away from the quicksand, moving too fast for her to catch him again. "You did pretty well against Jean."

They traded a series of light blows and banter. He was doing a good job of keeping her away from the others, though he didn't really seem keen on taking her out of the game for good. He never even touched the sword strapped into a scabbard on his back. Not that he really needed it. There was a distinct physicality to the way he moved, agile and fluid as he leaped and twisted in the air, vanishing and reappearing with theatrical flare. She couldn't help but notice that his graceful movements were more than survival in a fight; his acrobatic flips and somersaults were playful and elegant, almost joyful in a way that was...beautiful.

She was letting herself get distracted.

Shaking her head, Wanda reevaluated the battle as she could see it. No one had clearly won yet, though she had to admit the X-Men weren't far from it now that Mastermind was down. And they still hadn't gotten into the warehouse. She'd just have to blast her way into the warehouse and destroy the collars herself. That would put an end to this mess.

The next time Nightcrawler was near the warehouse she blasted him with a fast volley of hex bolts. He dodged them - but he wasn't really her target. They hit the warehouse walls and melted a hole through the thick concrete.

Wanda stepped through the ragged hole and stopped.

The warehouse was empty.

"Where are the collars? They've already been sent out -"

Nightcrawler poofed in. "You didn't really think we were here protecting a bunch of power dampening collars, did you?"

Wanda shook her head, everything sinking in. The disguised X-Men. The empty warehouse. "It's a trap."

They'd walked right into it. They'd brought _Lorna_ into it. The only reason they hadn't been captured yet was because they probably expected a much smaller team.

But reinforcements would come. The Brotherhood would be over.

She had to warn the others. Pietro. Lorna.

They should have bailed when they had the chance.

"Oh no you don't," said Nightcrawler as she moved to back out of the warehouse. He teleported her again, further into the warehouse, and he looked damned cheeky as he did it.

"Let me _go._ " Wanda's eyes narrowed. She would have to outsmart him, catch him off his guard enough to take him out. Before the stakes had been the collars - now it was her family. There was no way he could win.

When he tried to teleport her again the ground buckled up around his feet; the ground was unsteady in an expanding circle around her, with no angle for him to come at her from.

Except for above.

_BAMF!_

He snatched the crown from her head.

_BAMF!_

Now he perched on an overhead crossbeam, the crown dangling from one hand. He raised one eyebrow at her, almost as if to say _That's the best you can do?_

It was _infuriating_.

But two could play at that game. She made a break for the hole in the wall, breaking out into the open air. When he 'ported her this time it was exactly what she wanted. This time she was ready for the sickness enough that she could seize the hilt of his sword and drag it free of its scabbard. It was heavier than she expected, but well balanced.

_That_ caught him off guard.

Wanda pressed her advantage, closing the distance between them in two dizzying steps and leveling the sword against his neck.

* * *

Kurt could almost forget the sight of his dead brother's face.

It was easy - almost too easy - to let the Scarlet Witch distract him. Wasn't he the one who was supposed to be distracting _her?_

She pressed the edge of the blade to his throat, hard enough that he felt the cold kiss of steel through his fur but not the sting of skin breaking. "Don't even think about teleporting."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He smiled, surprisingly relaxed. Sure his pulse picked up every time she drew near, but that had less to do with fear and more to do with beautiful women and swords. "There's nowhere I would rather be."

"Call your friends off," she said, "tell your telepath that it's over. The X-Men have to let us go or I'll kill _you_."

It was impressive, how she almost believed herself. He could see how serious - and desperate - she was in her eyes. She would do almost anything to keep the people she cared about safe. He respected that.

"You're bluffing," he replied, tilting his neck so the edge of the sword dug further into his skin. "You're not going to hurt me."

Her eyes narrowed. "How can you be so sure?"

"My sword. You're not using the sharp edge." He couldn't help but look a little smug at calling her bluff. "You don't want to hurt me."

With a whirl she flipped the sword in her hand, too late. He vanished in a puff of purplish smoke, reappearing behind her.

"Too slow." He tagged her on the shoulder before 'porting again. "Catch me if you can."

She was really angry now, he could tell, scarlet light bleeding off her in waves that colored the street and the outside of the warehouse. The ground under his feet seemed to tremble. He was glad he hadn't teleported her back inside - she could bring a whole building down. He was sure of it. And now all that anger was directed at him.

"Hold still." Scarlet light seared off her hands, brighter with her frustration, almost sizzlingly bright. Her brows drew together in consternation. "This isn't a game."

With every missed blow her bolts of energy got more powerful. He could feel them surging by, so intense that he didn't even have to look to dodge them. He didn't have to see the damage they did to the street and the warehouse to know that if one hit him now, it wouldn't be good.

"It's more like a dance than a game," he said lightly, taking an acrobatic somersault away from another blast. "Two partners, both trying not to trip up."

She fumed. "Typically, one _asks_ for a dance."

"If I remember correctly, _you're_ the ones who attacked _us_."

Funny that he mentioned tripping, because when she softened the ground to quicksand again he stumbled, and her next fearsome blast of energy tossed him off his feet and all the way through the warehouse wall.


	10. Wounded

Wanda crept cautiously through the ruined building, the air foggy with dust, alert to the possibility of an ambush. With those teleportation abilities he could cut her off, but she knew she could take him. The problem was catching him first, he was so quick, so agile and graceful. But she had _definitely_ hit him with her last shot. Then she passed a tumble of broken concrete and there he was, slumped against the furthest wall, pinned by a jagged piece of rebar through his shoulder, its slick end protruding six inches from his flesh.

So close to his heart.

She could have killed him.

A sick feeling twisted in her stomach as she took another step into the settling dust, the sounds of battle outside fading away. His head hung limp but he was alive, the rise and fall of his chest labored, blood running down the wall in dark rivulets.

This was wrong, _so wrong_. This wasn't what she'd meant to happen at all. She would never intentionally hurt someone like this - especially not since Bavaria. Had she lost control of her powers? No. This was her as much as her powers, and she had to _fix it_.

She dropped to her knees beside him and his head came up, those uncanny yellow eyes blinking dazedly before focusing on her. "You've caught me, now what are you going to do with me?"

His mouth had somehow gone from a grimace of excruciating pain to something that had a smile around the edges, and it wasn't just because he had a lot of sharp teeth. She couldn't stop staring at his face - only because looking away meant seeing all that _blood -_ only that. It took her precious seconds to get her own mouth to form words. "Why didn't you teleport?"

"I don't know that I can." He winced, straining to get the words out. "Would you believe...that this has never happened before?"

Wanda bit her lip, thinking. "It's probably better that you didn't try; if the rebar is removed you could bleed out."

"Wunderbar."

She leaned back on her heels, assessing the situation. It was only a matter of time before his friends came looking for him, but leaving was out of the question. The faster he got help the less damage would be done here. She had superpowers, she could figure this out.

Turning his head to better look at her, he rested it against the wall, blinking dreamily. His voice was soft, like he was telling her a secret, or like he was losing consciousness. "You're not like the others...You're not like...Magneto."

"You don't know me."

A ragged laugh hissed through his teeth. "I know you better than you think."

She looked into his eyes. There was something familiar there, but it wasn't as if she could forget a face like that. "Do I know you?"

"You wouldn't recognize me."

Narrowing her eyes she tried to figure him out, imagine him as...someone else? How could you hide a mutation like that? It had to be some sort of magic (of course she believed in magic) or advanced technology, like the cloaking devices military vehicles used to blend in. Without the blue fur and yellow eyes he would look...

Her mouth fell open. "At the bar - that was _you_?"

He gave a slight shake of his head and she couldn't tell if it was some sort of self-deprecation or just the fog of blood loss setting in. "Shocked by my sudden good looks, I know."

Wanda didn't know what to say to that, so she fell quiet, trying to get her brain back to the problem at hand. What she really needed was help, someone to stanch the bleeding when she pulled the rebar out, or keep him from jerking out of her grip; aside from her powers she wasn't the strongest, and people in extreme pain were _strong_.

She didn't realize she'd said all this aloud until he asked, "Where did you learn so much about healing?"

"My brother."

"He's a doctor?"

She laughed. "No. The opposite. He was a troublemaker, always breaking his arm falling out of trees, or getting in the way of runaway horses. I wasn't so much better, but I _am_ the more responsible twin, so I had to take care of him. We always had to take care of each other, and anyways..." her expression fell.

He finished for her, "It wasn't easy to find places that would treat Roma."

It wasn't just that it was hard to find clinics that would treat them, it was that when they did the nurses wouldn't leave them in a room alone for even a moment. It was that they always made assumptions about how they received injuries, and who's money they were paying with. But she didn't need to say those things aloud. He already knew.

"I'm going to take it out." She said, abruptly changing the topic.

"I thought you said we shouldn't - "

"I'm going to use my powers to heat the metal, and hopefully that will cauterize the wound so you won't bleed out."

" _Hopefully?_ "

"Do you trust me?"

He didn't answer but his mouth snapped shut, jaw tensed, the tendons in his neck standing out. Steeling himself for more pain.

Inching closer, she took off her gloves and laid one hand on the bloody patch beside the rebar, trying to gently feel out the edges of the wound. His teeth clenched.

"Sorry," she said, still probing but also trying to distract him and herself. "You know, I didn't ever get your name."

"Kurt," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm Wanda." She tore his sleeve to get better access to the wound, blood staining her already scarlet gloves. The wound looked worse than it was, she told herself, it was just the blood matting his fur that made it look terrible. It wasn't even bleeding profusely anymore.

"I know." He'd mustered up another half-smile for her, because this was all so weird. In a way he'd known her for months, but she was only just meeting him properly.

A feeling she didn't have a name for tugged at her heart. She swallowed it down.

She tried to sound calm, though she felt anything but. "I'm going to break this rebar off at the back, and then pull it through from the front. I think it's best to go through-and-through."

He gave a little nod of understanding and she gripped the rebar an inch from the back of his shoulder, easily using her powers to break it away from the wall.

"Are you ready?" She asked, though she didn't feel at all ready herself. Another tiny nod and this time she gripped the front portion of the rebar, taking a steadying breath as she began to heat the metal. This was going to hurt like hell if it worked - and if it didn't work...he would probably die.

With a final surge of power she heated the metal and pulled it straight through, dropping the red-glowing rebar to the ground with a clatter as Kurt let out a strangled gasp, doubling over.

"Kurt!" She grabbed him to keep him from collapsing, running her hands over his arms and chest to check for wounds. Maybe he was more injured than she'd first thought. Maybe her powers hadn't worked - maybe she'd made everything worse. Her fingers found the tear in his uniform, the blood beneath starting to go dark and dry. The wound was still there but it definitely wasn't seeping blood.

"I'm okay." He winced, one hand finding her shoulder for stability. "I'm fine, really, I think it worked. Can you help me stand?"

"You nearly bled to death, you shouldn't exert yourself."

"I can't stay _here_."

"Fine, but if you die now then you can't blame _me_."

He chuckled darkly and she helped him to his feet, letting him lean on her for balance. He was unsteady, but at least he hadn't fainted. She supposed that X-Men had to be able to take a hit.

She looked at the ground and said, softly, "I really am sorry."

"You could come with me." When she looked up his yellow eyes were wide and hopeful. "The X-Men will take you and your brother in. Or if you wanted we could take you home - "

The expression on her face silenced him. "I don't have a home."

A wind picked up inside the ruined warehouse, swirling through the debris and picking up flurries of dust. One whole wall had collapsed and through it the sky was visible, and the X-Men's weather witch, lightning crackling around her. She was coming towards the warehouse - probably looking for her missing teammate. Wanda didn't want to be there when she arrived.

"I need to go now," she said, "will you be alright until your team finds you?"

"I think so," he put one hand out to steady himself against the near wall, but his other hand found hers and held it for a moment, before she could run away. She couldn't walk away when he looked at her like that. "The offer stands, you can come to the X-Men anytime."

* * *


	11. Med Bay

"I'm going to kill her."

"You are not going to kill anyone," Ororo chided Logan, though when she'd arrived in the ruined warehouse and seen Kurt covered in blood, there had been murder in her eyes too.

They were all in the Med Bay with Hank, though Kurt was the only one who was injured. Luckily he hadn't bled out, thanks to Wanda's cauterizing the wound, but his whole body hurt, and he still felt lightheaded even though he was currently on an IV. He really wished he had Logan's healing factor. Hopefully the pain meds would kick in soon.

"She didn't mean to do it," said Kurt from where he sat on a cot. "She apologized."

"I'm sure she kissed it to make it better, too?" Logan scowled. He hadn't stopped scowling since he'd arrived.

"No, but _you_ could - with 'Roro's permission of course."

"It looks like your morphine is finally working," Ororo teased, "and of course I give my permission." She raised her eyebrows at Logan, who rolled his eyes.

Kurt _was_ feeling a lot better all of the sudden, though he couldn't really think straight. Getting impaled was no big deal. He'd be totally fine by tomorrow, he was sure of it.

"Despite inflicting the wound herself," said Hank, adjusting his spectacles, "it was the girl's quick thinking that probably saved Kurt's life. I find it doubtful that she would save his life if she'd intentionally tried to kill him."

Logan's brow creased, his voice low and growling, "Maybe she just had a change of heart."

"Wanda," said Kurt insistently, "her name is _Wanda_. She's a _good person._ "

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Do good people usually go around throwing people through walls?"

"Well, no," Kurt's eyebrows crinkled together as he tried to concentrate, "but God forgives, so we must also forgive - "

"I forgot that he goes into preaching mode when he's on morphine," said Ororo, as Kurt went off on a gospel tangent. "How long does he have to stay down here, Hank?"

"He's doing well on the IV drip but I should really do a blood transfusion, and I want to monitor him for at least two days. Just because he's no longer bleeding doesn't mean he's fully healed."

Kurt leaned closer to Hank, his face contemplative. "Y'know Hank, you smell nice. People don't tell you that enough but it's true."

"Thank you, Kurt, and you're right, they really don't." Hank picked up his clipboard and tapped it with a pen. "We can do the blood transfusion now, to get it over with."

"He can have my blood," said Logan, but Hank shook his head, hiding a smile behind his clipboard.

"We have our own blood bank, Logan, but it's kind of you to offer. You two don't have to stay, he's going to be just fine."

Kurt sat up straighter at that, looking alarmed for the first time since arriving in the med bay. He wasn't fond of needles or going to the doctor - and he definitely didn't want his friends to leave. And all sense of pride was gone along with his inhibitions.

"Don't gooooo," whined Kurt, now fully in a dazed morphine nirvana. "I loooove you. I want you to _staaaay._ "

Ororo smiled and shook her head. "At least he's still speaking English."

* * *

Hank finally let Kurt out two days later, though he was still on pain pills and had strict instructions from the doc to keep off his feet, not use his powers, and pretty much not have any sort of fun. As nice as it was to be taken care of, being still for too long made him antsy. He needed to get up and _do_ things. Breaks were nice, but only if you could go to a play - or put on a play - or play baseball, or go camping. Even a walk would be nice, but he was still cooped up inside playing board games with Kitty and Ilyana in the library.

"You get to buy a house now Kurt," said Kitty - they were playing The Game of Life, all the pieces scattered over the library's big cherrywood table. "You know, we should make a pirate ship card. I could design it on the computer. And we could make an ice castle for Bobby."

"Where is he at, anyways?" Kurt picked a house card and they moved on to Kitty's turn. "He usually plays with us."

"I think he's moping because we always played this with Warren." Kitty frowned, her bottom lip poking out. They all missed Warren. "Look, it's my turn to get married. You are all invited, of course. It will be an outdoor wedding, in the springtime, and my Rabbi back home will do the ceremony."

Kurt was in the lead so he'd already gotten married, and he blamed his pain meds for thinking about Wanda as Kitty described _his_ wedding like only a fifteen-year-old girl could. Though if he was being honest, he'd been thinking about Wanda a lot during his recovery. She was the reason why he was _in_ recovery, after all. She was also the reason why he made it out of that warehouse. An interesting conundrum, that.

"Earth to Kurt." Kitty waved a hand in front of his face. "I know you're high on pain meds but could you hand me a spouse piece?"

"Oh, ja," he fished a blue piece out of the box and handed it to her, but she shook her head.

"Not that one." Kurt didn't miss the shy glance Kitty cast Ilyana, who was completely oblivious to Kitty's crush. "Maybe...I want a pink one instead."

Kurt got her the pink piece and everyone took another turn or two, and then it was _Ilyana's_ turn to get married. She was distinctly less impressed with the idea than Kitty was.

"I do not understand this game, it's not like life at all." Ilyana frowned at the brightly illustrated game board. "It _makes_ you do things like get married and buy a house, but not everyone wants to get married and not everyone has a house. And these careers are so..." she broke off into Russian.

"English, 'Yana," said Kitty, "at least we're not playing scrabble, that would be a nightmare."

Ilyana rolled her eyes. "Teacher? Accountant? Pop star? These are boring. I want something with a sword."

Kurt couldn't disagree with her there, but he and Kitty were both offended by her disrespecting their preferred Game of Life careers (teacher for Kitty, pop star for Kurt) or besmirching one of their favorite games.

"You don't have to get married, you can just skip it," said Kitty, though Kurt could tell she was a bit disappointed.

He was also certain that no Game of Life had ever been so awkward, even when they played with Bobby and Warren.

Ilyana shook her head. "Nyet, it is how the game is played."

Ilyana got married and they moved on, though Kurt noticed that Kitty didn't describe Ilyana's wedding, instead chewing her bottom lip and focusing intently on the game. They made it through another round of turns before another interruption appeared.

"When I heard there was a game going on in the library I assumed it was poker," said Remy, shuffling his cards between his hands as he came to lean one hip against the table and peer at the colorful board game. "What is this?"

"The Game of Life," said Kitty, "'Yana and I just got married - I mean - um - not to each other - "

Kurt saved her. "Would you like to play, Remy? We're not too far in."

Kitty latched onto her life preserver. "Have you ever played before? I can show you how. The green, yellow, and orange pieces haven't been taken yet."

"I'm more of a cards man myself, but I'll let you deal me in, petite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm assuming people know what the game of life is but if you don't it's just a board game where you have lifetime milestones like college, getting married, buying a house, etc...and at the end of the game you die lol.


	12. Nightmare

Wanda didn't think her day could get any worse, until Jason appeared. She'd begun the morning by accidentally hexing their coffee maker (the only appliance that was often used) a migraine had started by lunch, and to make everything worse, she couldn't get the nightmare she'd had the night before out of her head. She swore she could hear screaming.

At least most of the others were out on some little mission that Erik had excused her from - he'd said they didn't _need_ her, which was really his not-so-nice way of being kind. Unfortunately, he'd also left Mastermind behind to _babysit_ her. She could have killed Erik with her bare hands, she felt so patronized.

"Indisposed again, Wanda?" Jason asked, looming over her in his stupid cloak. "Is it another one of your headaches or...a feminine thing?" His nose wrinkled.

"Go away," she said, flopping a hand over her eyes. The lights were too bright. The voices too loud inside her head.

She swore they got worse whenever the so-called Mastermind was nearby.

She'd also been having nightmares ever since the battle at the warehouse, when she'd almost killed that X-Man. Nightcrawler. _Kurt_. She wished she could forget it; she still felt so _guilty_ about it, could still see red staining blue, still hear his soft gasps of anguish.

Her head screamed with pain.

He'd been so _nice_. Why did he have to be _nice?_

How had she become someone who hurt people - after Bavaria she'd sworn she wouldn't hurt anyone else - and then she'd sworn only to hurt those who really deserved it.

But he hadn't deserved it. He didn't even use that sword he carried around.

Jason dragged a chair over to where Wanda was laid up on the couch, turning it around and sitting on it backwards, his arms resting on the back. Wanda was about to tell him to _Fuck Off_ when he said, "I can make them go away, you know. The nightmares."

If anything could cut through the force of a migraine, it was the thought of -

No. She would _never_ consider that. Her memories belonged to her, and she deserved every last ounce of guilt and grief and nightmare fuel. And the thought of willingly letting Mastermind alter her memory was sickening. She wished he would just go away.

He did not go away. "I can alter your memories, take away the guilt...the grief. You might see it as a weakness, erasing the past, but I see it as a strength. The past holds us back. Our regrets tie us down. Think about what you could be without all your baggage. It keeps you from your full potential."

"My potential is just fine," she snapped, hoping that he would finally take the hint.

"Maybe you'd like a demonstration." Jason smiled; he had bad teeth for smiling, or maybe the wrong face for it. Whatever the reason, his expression looked strange, almost manic. "You look tired, Wanda. Why don't you go to sleep?"

No sooner had he said that than Wanda found herself drifting off...

She was always so powerless in her nightmares. It was ironic, considering how powerful she really was - and yet, it was never enough. No omega mutant could single-handedly stop the persecution and hatred and pain in the world. There was a wound in the world, a wound she wanted so badly to heal.

In her dream the village burned.

She didn't know how the fire began - someone left tinder too close to a fire, perhaps, or neglected to put out their cigar. Simple human error, no doubt. But the fire caught and spread through the village of thatch-roofed houses. Orange flames burning out the stars. Smoke in great towers rising towards the heavens.

Her family and her people were fleeing the fire. They couldn't stay here or their wagons would burn, and if they didn't get out someone would inevitably cast the blame for this on them.

But Wanda couldn't just ran away and do nothing. Not when she knew she had powers.

She and Pietro weren't supposed to use them. Their aunt and uncle told them that it was too dangerous, that people would fear them if they knew.

They were right.

When Wanda saw the roof of a house burning down to its beams - and people trapped inside screaming - she raised her hands and _stopped it_.

Pietro's powers had always been straight-forward, but Wanda's were...trickier. She could make hex bolts, blasts of violent energy, but she could also alter reality - but only in realistic ways, probable ways. The fire could have died out on its own, she just helped it along a little. As the flames turned to smoke someone saw Wanda standing in the street, her hands raised and her hair blown back, scarlet lighting up the dark.

That's when the shout went up.

_Witch!_

_She did this!_

_Burn_ her _!_

But before the shouting could peak, before the torches were lit from the incendiary houses, it was over. Gone.

Instead of the burning village she stood in a meadow filled with flowers. She'd always loved flowers; Pietro said she was such a _girl_ for liking pretty things, for wanting the ribbons and shoes that other girls had. She thought there were worse vices than a little envy and frivolity, and she was always a good practical girl when she had to be - which was most of the time. Her whole life, really.

The flowers were every kind imaginable. Poppies and chrysanthemums and white daisies. Lilies. Wild pink roses.

She picked one and brushed its soft petals against her lips. It smelled sweeter than anything -

* * *

When she finally woke up, it was to the sound of Pietro's voice.

"Wanda? Wanda -" he shook her, gently at first, then harder. "Wanda!"

"I'm awake -" she slapped at him, opening her eyes and blinking. "What time is it?"

"Late."

She could tell that much from the darkness pressing against the window. How long had she been asleep? Hours? Her migraine was all but gone, and if Pietro was back the mission must be over. He looked alright at least. No injuries. His eyes were tired though, shadowed underneath, like he hadn't been sleeping any better than she had recently. He sat on the edge of the couch, one of her hands gripped in both of his.

He said, "You were having a nightmare."

She shook her head, trying to clear away the lingering scent of roses. "I wasn't."

He tipped her chin towards him, and now she could see that he was concerned, a line gathered between his brows. "You're crying."

She scrubbed at her cheeks with the back of one hand. He was right. "I don't know why."

Pietro's mouth formed a thin line as he frowned. "You've been getting a lot of these headaches recently -"

"I haven't, really."

"I just think that maybe this whole mutant anarchist change-the-world thing has gotten to be too much. I know Erik saved us back in Europe, and I know you feel indebted to him for that, but don't you think you've done enough? We got Lorna out of jail. That has to be worth something. Maybe it's time for us to leave."

"And where would we go? Anywhere we go we'll be outcasts, we've always been outcasts. At least here we stand against our oppressors."

 _Maybe not anywhere,_ a small voice in the back of her mind whispered. _You had another offer._

"Just think about it," said Pietro, still not looking happy. "You know it's my job to look after you."

"We look after _each other_."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost to their own thoughts. Wanda wasn't sure if this was really about her or Pietro - he didn't always like following orders, and things had seemed...different recently. Ever since they started going on real missions everything was so much more _real_. Mutant freedom wasn't just a dream, it was a battle, and somehow they were caught in the middle of it.

Finally Wanda broke the silence, looking at her brother and wrinkling her nose. "You should get some rest, you look _terrible_."

He cracked a grin. "You don't look so fantastic yourself."

* * *

Eventually she convinced her brother to go to bed, and once the house was quiet again she took a shower and washed her face, brushed her teeth. All things she neglected to do when her headaches got bad. Rogue was already asleep in their shared room so Wanda got dressed quietly, combing out her damp curls as well as she could. They never wanted to cooperate.

The dim red light of the digital clock on her dresser read 1:00 a.m.

She should go to bed, but she'd slept all afternoon and wasn't tired. Maybe she could watch TV downstairs, since everyone was asleep, and she hadn't eaten dinner; there had to be _something_ edible in the fridge.

She wasn't surprised that the light in the kitchen was on - no one in this house knew what a normal sleep schedule was - but she _was_ surprised to step through the doorway and find _Erik_ standing beside the sink, drinking wine out of a coffee mug. She knew it was wine because an open bottle of Chardonnay sat near his elbow; it was not even close to full.

Taking a step backwards she tried to make a hasty retreat, but his wine-muzzed voice stopped her.

"Magda."

He was so lost in the bottle that he was confusing her for someone else, the note of hope in his voice heartbreaking. She was trapped by it, unable to walk away even though she'd decided that she wasn't thirsty anymore.

"They're so beautiful," he continued, looking right at her but seeing something - someone - else. "They're perfect, I wish you could see them now..."

Erik trailed off, staring into space. His shirt was rumpled and un-tucked, his silver hair a little wild, which was strange because he was always so perfectly together, but in the dim light of one a.m. it made him look more human, less like a distant and vengeful god.

Wanda took another step out the door but this time her own name stopped her.

"Wanda."

"Sorry," she said awkwardly, "I didn't realize anyone else was up."

Erik still looked bleary and drunk, but at least he knew who she was. "That's quite alright. Would you like some...wine?"

"No, thank you, I'll just make myself some tea." She found a kettle and a box of tea - the cabinets were better stocked now that Erik had taken up residence with them - setting the teabag in a clean mug as the water boiled.

"What is that? Earl Grey?" asked Erik, coming right over and inspecting the little paper label attached to the tea bag. He sniffed. "Lemon verbena. We don't have anything better than _that? Any real tea?_ "

"I like it." Wanda tried to hide her amusement at his outburst over tea flavors. It wasn't what one expected from Magneto. But she rifled through the cabinet again and found Earl Grey. She used it to fix another mug when the kettle shrilled, and handed the cup to Erik. 

"Thank you," he said, looking a little surprised. "You are very kind, Wanda."

"It's just tea."

"It's not just the tea. You've really helped Lorna settle in here, and I appreciate it. I'm glad..." he trailed off, looking into the dark depths of his tea. "I'm glad it's you. I hope...I hope you two can be friends."


	13. Death

The mutant was dead.

She lay in an alleyway, her fair lavender skin unmarked by stab wounds or bullet holes. Her eyes open to show double irises the color of buttercups.

Kurt recognized her - he'd seen her in passing the day the Brotherhood attacked the mutant detainment facility; she'd been one of the ones who got away. Now she was dead.

While he crouched beside the body and murmured a prayer, Jean asked, "What killed her, Professor? Do you know?"

"I have an idea, Jean, but I'm not yet certain."

The three mutants had been summoned here by an anonymous tip - a strange occurrence in itself - and this woman was only one of four similar deaths reported in the last week. She was the first they got to before the police covered this up, too. The only mutant related crimes they cared about these days were the actions of the Brotherhood. The antagonistic mutant group had been particularly active recently, and cops were cracking down on mutants everywhere. People were abusing mutants, too, harassing them openly on the streets, assaulting them, frightening them.

Killing them.

A bitter chill seeped in under Kurt's coat; the weather was getting worse as the season turned towards winter. Withered leaves mixed with the trash in the alley, the sky gunmetal gray overhead. A storm was coming, and it wouldn't be long before it arrived.

Turning up the collar of his coat, Kurt inspected the body more closely. "Look at this - "

The woman's body was marked after all, a faint line of discolored skin around her throat like a necklace of burns. Not serious burns, only first degree, nothing that could possibly kill someone. Unless...

Xavier rolled close enough to see the marks, his frown deepening as he gave a small shake of his head. "This is what I was afraid of. Trask Industries has come out with a new prototype x-gene inhibiting collar, one that my sources tell me couldn't pass any safety tests. It is quite near deadly."

Jean shook her head, her long red hair raised in the frigid breeze. "But I thought those weren't real. That's just the rumor we spread to catch the Brotherhood."

Xavier shook his head. "The intelligence was mostly accurate, the collars just weren't in mass production yet. A seed of truth growing in a trap makes a far better lure than utter falsehood."

Kurt dusted off his hands as he stood, looking down at the poor woman lying in the filth of the alleyway. She hadn't died here, he was sure of it. Someone had dumped her here, left her lying alone behind a pair of dumpsters. She'd had what, a few weeks of freedom? Before they recaptured her and killed her? He wondered if the mutants from the detainment facility had tracking devices in them. He wondered if these deadly collars would replace the ones already being used in prisons around the country.

"What should we do with her? We can't just leave her here."

"I'm afraid that is what we must do. The authorities will be notified, and justice will take its natural course as if we were never here."

"Justice?" Kurt said. "You mean a coverup? A dismissal?"

"Kurt -" Jean put one hand on his shoulder. "We'll find justice for her, even if the police don't. You know that."

Of course he knew it, but that didn't mean he thought it was enough. This woman deserved to be put to rest, she deserved as much care as anyone. News channels never portrayed mutants as victims, people to be mourned. Even when news outlets covered mutant murders - of which there were many - the mutants were always portrayed as somehow being _responsible_ for their own deaths. They were criminals or dangerous. They _deserved_ what they got. That was the implication. Kurt tried not to let it get to him - but even if the police and the reporters and the people on the street buying newspapers didn't care about a nameless mutant woman killed and left to rot like garbage - even if no one else cared, _he did_.

It made it hard to walk away.

* * *

The X-Men convened to address the new threat of Trask's deadly collars.

It was late evening, after all the students were in bed, Xavier, Logan, Ororo, Jean, Scott, and Hank all sitting or standing around the big planning table in the war room. Kurt perched on the back of his chair, tail curled around one of its legs. It twitched fitfully as Xavier explained all the information they had on the new collars, including the rate of deaths caused and when they would be in regular circulation.

That last one was less than a month away.

Scott crossed his arms on the table. "We should destroy them all. Track the shipments and ransack them."

Logan's nostrils twitched, his expression narrowing to disdain. "Hate to say it but I agree with slim."

"I agree," said Xavier from his place at the figurative head of the long oval-shaped table. "However, I'm afraid that will not be enough. To truly eliminate this new threat we will have to go to the root, the designs and patents used to create the collars, the factories where they are manufactured."

Logan added. "The scientists who designed them."

"You know we can't do that, Logan," said Jean, tucking a sheaf of red hair behind her ear. "We're not murderers. Destroying the factories, prototypes, and designs will set Trask back so far he may just give up on the collars. At the very least it will give us more time."

"Lives are at stake," growled Logan, "and I'm not too squeamish about killing."

Xavier held up his hands before the argument could go further. "We are not going to kill anyone. No one here is proposing assassination."

A moment of silence stretched long. No one was happy with Trask or the people developing new ways to torture and oppress mutants, but no one was willing to support Logan's proposition either. Assassinating Trask was something Magneto would do. No one here was a villain.

Finally Hank said, "We'll need shipping manifests for the collars, it will be easier to destroy them once they are in transit. As for the factories, we'll need to create some sort of malfunction or gas leak to get everyone out before we destroy them. We'll need details on guard rotations."

"What about the designs?" asked Ororo. "Won't they be difficult to destroy? Surely there are backup copies?"

"The designs will be a challenge," agreed Xavier, folding his hands and nodding, "I've already had our people do a little digging, and there are two copies of the design files. One in the Trask headquarters, which has security measures that rival the pentagon, and one that Trask himself keeps on his person at all times, stored in a thumb drive. Destroying them both will be nearly impossible."

"You forget," piped up Kurt for the first time since the meeting started, "we have a master thief."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a plotting heavy chapter but I promise the next one is juicy! The magnet fam strikes again


End file.
